There was a prickle to Atair and his manner of introduction, one that Maslakhat might have found laced with something like defiance on any other day. His eyes flicked to the dark Arabian for a moment, watching as he followed his blood-marked brother’s lead and deferred to his graciousness. His lingering gaze in that instant only served to remind them both that this arrangement was mutually beneficial, and he intended to do whatever was necessary to keep it that way. Maslakhat was no stranger to the mind of most Arabians—and he knew that any perceived shift in the balance of power they all held could be grounds for the more opportunistic sort to snatch away greedily. But for now they had an understanding, and he was careful to maintain it. Since the time of Bahadir’s rule, he had only improved upon the Dunes, and he would not let anyone or anything threaten to disrupt what life he had sowed from sands once dead and barren.

“I knew your mother well,” he said in response as the newest member to join the group—a mare, evidently bearing some relation to Bahadir—sidled alongside them as well. The golden bay’s eyes flicked to the sister and then back to the half-arabian as he continued. “And your father.”

He paused, recalling the days past when Orhan called the Desert his own, as well as the tumultuous relationship he had with both him and A’idah when they had shared borders. Now, a thick, feather-footed stallion ruled it at his leisure, and here was Bahadir lamenting of a time when the Dunes was once his own, despite how he’d left it. However fortunately for him, Maslakhat was not the sort to chide the son for the sins of the father—or mother.

Antares spoke once more, finding the commonality they shared—be it some amount of blood or culture—enough to ask if the two visitors might be fit to be his guests.

“I will permit they stay under your watch, though I wonder how Sayyida might receive him, given what she went through before the pleasure of receiving the title now bestowed upon her,” he announced, his eyes flicking to Antares in a subtle flash of his hand, lest he forget that Maslakhat had found the rose grey mare first—disillusioned in the Badlands.

“And Bahadir,” the Akhal-Teke continued, shifting his focus back to the stallion and his clinging compatriot. “I hope you spend your time during this visit wisely. Legacy weighs heavily.” He finished with a flick of his dark tail, challenging Bahadir in no uncertain terms to prove the worth in which Antares inquired.


MASLAKHAT

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